Things Aren't Always What They Seem
by mhathairamhain
Summary: Robbie didn't like surprises from James as they rarely turned out well.


Robbie had just thrown the empty pierce-and-ping container in the bin when his phone rang. James. It couldn't be another case; they still hadn't wrapped the current one. _If you're hungry it's too bloody late now, mate_. He'd been looking forward to sharing a meal at the pub until James had turned him down, and he hadn't fancied going on his own.

"Sir, I, erm, sorry to call. I was... could you possibly come over, tonight, I need some... assistance."

Robbie nearly missed the hesitation in James' voice but it was more than enough to ring an alarm bell.

James had run down a suspect that afternoon, finally trapping and pinning him down in a stairway. When Lewis and the uniformed officers had caught up, the suspect was cuffed, bloodied but defiant, cursing James six ways from Sunday and threatening to "smash more that your posho face".

James was breathless, dishevelled, dirty, and nursing a bloody nose. He'd testily waved Robbie away, "I'm fine, he just clipped me, it'll stop soon."

"Sergeant." Robbie pointed behind James to the paramedics who'd been called to the scene. "Go."

James went, muttering grumpily under his breath. With the suspect in capable hands, Robbie followed.

"Just a glancing blow, he'll have a bit of swelling for a day or so, but otherwise he's fine." The paramedic had stopped the bleeding and cleaned James up and Robbie agreed it didn't look too bad, though Laura certainly wouldn't be calling him dishy for a day or so. James' shirt, however, was a lost cause. _Another bloody expenses claim to argue. Why can't he just buy his shirts at Marks and Sparks? Sometimes..._

Back at the station, James had retrieved a spare shirt from his desk and disappeared to change. He'd taken longer than Robbie had expected, and when he eventually returned had mumbled an explanation involving no hot water and not being able to find his comb. Later, when James declined the invite to the pub after work Robbie had simply assumed he was tired from the day's events and, having called Lyn earlier for some advice, dispensed detailed instructions to James on how to look after his nose. He finished by admonishing him to "get some bloody sleep" and chose to ignore James when he'd rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. At least Robbie hoped it had been in jest; in hindsight, James had looked decidedly uncomfortable about something.

Robbie didn't like surprises from James as they rarely turned out well. There'd been no witnesses to James' arrest and Robbie sincerely hoped James wasn't going to confess to using "undue force" to subdue their suspect; he'd come too close to an official warning in the past and Robbie doubted Innocent would turn a blind eye again.

"Gimme twenty minutes." Robbie sighed, hung up, and retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair. Shower and bed would have to wait.

Robbie knew James must have been looking out for him, as the door swung open before he had a chance to knock. Catching James' relieved expression, Robbie felt some of the tension flow out of him.

James walked in front of him toward the kitchen, confident Robbie would follow. "Thanks for coming, Sir. Beer? Or I've just boiled the kettle if you'd pref..."

"James, what have you done to yourself?" It was immediately obvious that James wasn't moving as freely as usual. James' grimaced at the concern in Robbie's tone. _Might as well get to the point._

"Well, um, that's why I've asked you... I need to put this on," he handed Robbie a tube of cream, "but I can't reach the spot."

Robbie glanced at the label—Arnica Bruise Relief. Baffled, Robbie frowned. _Can't reach his nose?_

Puzzlement turned to astonishment then horror as James unbuttoned his shirt and turned his back to Robbie. As he shrugged the right sleeve off, the shirt slipped down to reveal a large, ugly blue-black bruise, a broad, straight line which stretched down James' right shoulder blade, extending to his lower ribs.

James had continued talking, "The cream's to help break up the bruise but I can only reach so far across or around." When Robbie didn't answer him, James turned to see what he was doing and quickly dropped his eyes from Robbie's face.

"James, what the bloody hell… when did… how…?" Robbie wasn't sure if he was more upset at the injury or by James matter-of-fact attitude towards it. At least James now had the decency to look contrite.

James kept his head down, reminding Robbie of a guilty child. He spoke haltingly, "Ah, well. When you found me. On the stairs. I, erm. I hadn't _exactly_ run down them."

"You fell?!" Robbie was aghast.

James looked vexed, "It was a poorly executed flying tackle, Sir."

"Flying tack…," Robbie snorted in disgust. "You bloody idiot, you should've said something, you should've been checked out. I _know_ you didn't say anything to the paramed…"

James snapped angrily, "It didn't seem quite as bad at the time." Shocked by his own reaction, James quieted, mumbling, "Wasn't until I went to shower tonight that I realised how…"

"You. Daft. Sod. Get your jacket." Robbie had taken a deep breath to calm himself; yelling at James wasn't going to achieve anything except cause the lad to get his hackles up. Though his voice was softer, James flinched at the hard edge to it.

"Sir?"

"I'm taking you to A&E."

"But it's just a…"

"**_Now_**, Sergeant."

James knew it was pointless to argue with _that_ tone.

They'd endured a series of long, uncomfortable silences in A&E and were now waiting for James' x-rays to be assessed. Hopefully James would then receive whatever treatment was deemed necessary and at least one of them could definitely go home. James sat hunched forward, his body slightly turned away from Robbie, keeping the pressure off his shoulder. He leant heavily on the arm rest with his chin cradled in his left hand, fingers curled over his mouth. James hadn't said a word in the car, had barely spoken since leaving his flat except to answer questions from the hospital staff. Robbie's initial frustration at James had morphed into quiet concern, and he'd had to force himself to stand back and allow James some privacy while he confirmed his details at reception. Robbie sincerely hoped this was the last they'd see of the waiting room tonight. With a loud huff, he got to his feet.

"I'm getting a coffee. D'you want one?"

"N'thanks," James mumbled into his hand and didn't move.

If Robbie had to use one word to describe James at that moment, he would have said he was sulking. He wasn't sure if he wanted to comfort James or give him a good shake. He rolled his eyes and crouched down in front of him.

"James, what did you expect me to do? You called me – remember? Did you think I'd come over, rub in some ointment, and then leave you to your own devices after seeing _that_?"

James' response was to turn his head a little further away. Robbie waited. He decided to wait as long as his knees would let him, then he'd pull up a chair and wait some more. Eventually James' shoulders sagged a little and he slowly turned towards Robbie. He blinked slowly, resigned to his fate, and sighed, "I had hoped... No, I suppose not, Sir."

Robbie was trying to work it out. James never asked for help unless he was absolutely certain he couldn't do something himself. The last time was, well, Robbie couldn't remember the last time. However, if he'd wanted to hide his injury—as his current attitude would suggest—surely he'd have called someone else, a band-mate perhaps, or... Robbie realised he had no idea who else, apart from perhaps Laura, James could or would call on. He took a breath, intending to ask James directly.

"Hathaway. James Hathaway."

If he could have, Robbie was certain James would have leapt out of the chair and run when his name was called. He tried, pushing up quickly against the left arm rest, only to bump against Robbie's knees. Off balance he dropped into the chair, striking his back and part of the bruised area against the chair. He hissed loudly on impact.

"Here." Robbie reached for James' left hand and, gripping his forearm, helped him up. His curiosity was roused further when James beckoned for him to follow and asked him to stay for the first time that evening.

The Doctor looked at James' forms and eyed Robbie curiously, "Are _you_..."

James explained quickly and calmly, "He's my Governor. It's work-related. He should stay. Hear the details first hand."

"You're very lucky Mr Hathaway, a different angle and it could have been an unhappier story. You've got some very deep bruising; however, your range of movement rules out any major soft tissue damage, and x-rays show no breaks or cracks."

James stared coolly at Robbie and muttered, "As I tried to tell…"

"However," the doctor spoke over him, "You _will_ need to come back for further x-rays in about three days, when the bruising and swelling subsides a bit."

"More x-rays?" Robbie queried, watching James, "so there _could_ still be—something—under that bruising?" His eyes dared James to speak.

The doctor shook his head, "It's unlikely. The follow-up x-rays are just a precaution." Robbie tried to ignore James' 'I-told-you-so' look as the doctor continued, "Swelling and bruising _can_ mask hairline fractures and bone chips, but I don't believe that's the case here." He turned to James, "For now, rest the shoulder as much as possible over the next few days. I'll prescribe some oral anti-inflammatories and analgesics, and it wouldn't hurt to start using arnica cream on the bruising as soon as possible."

Though he was relieved it wasn't a serious injury, Robbie wanted to wipe the smug look off James' face. That definitely had nothing to do with the 'unfortunate shape of his face'.

It was 2am before they arrived back at James' flat. Robbie was tired and just a little peeved at James. If he'd been honest with the paramedics and let himself be checked out this afternoon, they'd both have had the chance to get a decent night's sleep. Now Robbie was going to have to face Innocent on less sleep than usual. He could _order_ James to come in first thing—especially now there was no real reason for him to stay off—but looking at him, sitting there half-asleep, Robbie didn't have the heart. They could talk about it tomorrow night, work permitting. He ran through the doctor's instructions for the third time since leaving the hospital. He was certain that James, for all his cleverness, would find a way to conveniently forget the parts he wanted to if he thought he wasn't being monitored.

"Right, get inside, get yourself some rest. I'll see you in the afternoon. If you're lucky I'll not drag you into Innocent's office over this. But I'll warn you now, I'm stepping out of the way if she or Laura come after you."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry you..."

"Go on James, off with you, lad," Robbie huffed softly. For someone who was all arms and legs and lean muscle, James looked surprisingly small and fragile hunched down as he was in the seat. He reminded Robbie of Mark when he was younger and had been scolded for something, and _damn it_, he felt just as horrible now as he did then. He'd always hated being the bad cop to Val's good cop.

At the gentle tone in his voice, James turned towards at him. His voice was small and quiet, reinforcing the image Robbie had in his head.

"Sir?"

Robbie looked at him patiently.

"The doctor said to use the Arnica cream..."

"Aye, I know." It suddenly dawned on Robbie where James was heading, and he saw his chance of catching a couple of hours sleep rapidly disappearing.

"Well, Sir, I still can't reach…"

Robbie groaned softly and unfastened his seatbelt.

Once inside, Robbie took the doctor's instructions on board and sent James into the shower. "Doctor said it'd help—not too hot mind—then we'll sort you out with cream and pills."

James looked at Robbie in astonishment, "Sir, I'm not twelve ye—"

Robbie had fixed James with a look and pointed over his shoulder towards the bathroom. James shook his head and slumped off, looking for all the world like a twelve-year-old, much to Robbie's amusement.

When James came back to the kitchen, dressed in worn track pants and buttoning an old pyjama jacket, he was surprised to find that Robbie had made a pot of tea and a plate of cheese sandwiches. Robbie misinterpreted his look, "Beggars can't be choosers, lad, you've got less in your fridge that I have. C'mon, you can't take those tablets on an empty stomach. Get that in you, then we'll get the cream on and we can…talk." James scowled but the frown didn't quite reach his eyes.

He bit into the first sandwich; James hadn't realised how hungry he was and found himself eating more quickly than usual, almost wolfing down the first round. Robbie allowed himself a little self-satisfied smile.

Robbie waited until James had taken some tea and started on his next sandwich. "You know I'll have to report this. You _were_ injured in the line of duty," he said, taking his first sip of tea.

"No. You don't." James' words were a little garbled as he choked down the mouthful of sandwich.

"You told the Doctor—it'll be on your notes now—and I'll have to let Innocent know why you're not in in the morning." Robbie argued quietly

"No. _ You don't!_" James fixed Robbie with a glare. "I'll be in."

"You were ordered to rest, and rest you bloody well will, even if I have to stand guard over you." Robbie growled, becoming frustrated at James' stubbornness.

James stabbed the air in front of him with his sandwich, "Instructed, Sir, not ordered. There is a difference, as I'm sure you'll..."

"Sergeant Hathaway." That tone. The don't-argue-with-me voice. Again. James immediately lowered his sandwich but maintained eye contact as Robbie continued.

"I can't ignore how you got injured, James, and you'll be tied to the desk for a couple days at least; I'll have to explain _that_ to Innocent. Bloody hell, lad, you're not indestructible—nor are you indispensable." James head jerked back. Robbie nodded and continued in a gentler tone, "None of us are indispensible. Not you, not me, not Innocent. Even Laura could be replaced if it came to the worst. What if it had been 'an unhappier story', what if it had been your head you'd hit, what if you'd..." Robbie waved a hand around, searching for words, "Passed out in the shower, or worse behind the wheel? Don't interrupt me." James had opened his mouth and closed it quickly, a frown creeping above his eyes. "Lad, right now I don't care how tough think you are or how well you think you know your body." He took a deep breath to calm himself. "You were lucky this time."

James didn't speak.

Robbie expelled an exasperated sigh. He nodded at the plate in front of James. "Finish up and get those tablets down. I want to get this cream on and get home to my bed; if only for a couple of hours." There was a weariness creeping in. James gave a small nod and eyed Robbie warily.

James slipped his right arm out of the sleeve, once again exposing the ugly bruise. Robbie winced; James would have been in pain all afternoon and he'd said nothing. As Robbie started to massage the cream in, using small circles from the centre to the edges as explained by the nurse, he was aware of James tensing up.

"This'd work a hell of a lot better if you relaxed." The late hour made Robbie's voice gruff. "Tightening up like that, it's gotta hurt."

James flinched inwardly, "Sorr... I'm just not used to not being able... of needing... I've always been able to take care of myself."

"Surely not _always_? Even when you were a kid? What about your mum..." Robbie's eyes grew wide as he felt James' shoulders go rigid under his hands. _Right, let's not go there then, shall we?_ Robbie filed that puzzle piece away for another day, along with the rest of the material stored under the heading of _James the Conundrum_, and quickly and gently moved on.

"Well, you definitely need a hand this time. Although if you're not happy with me, I can always call Laura..."

James quickly shook his head, "No, Sir, really, that's not..." He puffed out his cheeks and his head drooped a little. "I'm sure she'd find a way to hurt me, just to make sure I didn't do this again."

Robbie chuckled. He had no doubt Laura would, all the while delivering a stern lecture on self-preservation and duty of care. Robbie had been the target of more than one of those in the past, while he was still with Morse.

"But, honestly now James, is there no-one else you could have called—not that I'm not happy to help, I am—it's just that I get the feeling you'd rather anyone here but me here."

"It's not that Sir, it's…" Robbie felt James' shoulders sag as he fell silent. He continued applying the cream, taking note that James had stopped tensing up at his touch. Just as Robbie was beginning to think that James also shut down, he gave a deep sigh and turned his head to look at Robbie, "There's no-one else I trust more than you. I didn't say anything at the time because I didn't want a fuss—from you or anyone. And tonight—last night, earlier," James briefly scowled, "if you'd let me explain instead of pulling rank," his eyes flashed, daring Robbie to deny that's what he'd done, "you could have been in bed hours ago."

Robbie let his hand fall away and exhaled forcefully through his nose, "Go on then, tell me what I missed."

James gave a small sigh, "I've had injuries similar this before—no, no, accidents!" Robbie had jerked backwards as though he'd been struck, which, James had guessed correctly, is what he thought James was implying had happened to him. "I used to help my dad with the horses on Crevecoeur. I've been thrown a couple of times—there and at school. I've had couple of broken bones and all the bruising and muscle tears that go with landing forcibly on hard ground—this was nothing in comparison. I knew that. I just bounced off the railing. The only force behind it was my own body weight."

"Oh." Robbie was embarrassed and defensive. "And how was I supposed to know that, you never talk about when you were growin' up."

James looked away and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like _you're not exactly an open book yourself_ before replying quietly, "I know, Sir. I should have said something, in the car, before we got to the hospital, but..."

"...you knew I'd still make you see a doctor anyway." Robbie sighed as he lifted James' jacket back up to his shoulder, helping him to slip his arm in. "And that's why you wanted me in the room with you as well. You also knew hearing from the doctor directly would be the only way to reassure me." James nodded and turned in the chair as he refastened his buttons. He watched Robbie as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, trying to read his mood.

"Are you still angry with me, Sir?" he asked cautiously. Even now there were times when James could never quite work out what Robbie was thinking and needed to hear it from him directly.

Robbie didn't answer immediately. He slowly dried his hands, folding the tea towel carefully when he was done, turned and leant back against the sink. "I'm not angry, well, maybe a bit, definitely disappointed," James hung his head, "but mostly I'm just worried." James looked up, blinking. _Worried?_

"That cream?" He pointed to the partially used tube, "Please tell me you picked it up this afternoon and it's not something you keep on hand..."

James nodded and flushed, "This afternoon. I told the pharmacist it was for my nose." He glanced down at the small, now half-empty container. "I'm going to need another tube, aren't I?"

Robbie nodded slowly. "More than one, I'd say." He moved back to the table and sat down opposite James.

"Tell me truthfully, lad: if you'd been able to put the cream on yourself, would you have ever told me?"

James briefly debated trying to skirt around the question, but he was too tired and knew, ultimately, it would be pointless, "No, Sir, not if I could help it." His voice was quiet but firm.

Robbie exhaled slowly and let the silence sit between them, watching James as he began to fiddle with the tube. Clearly he had nothing further to say, in his defence or otherwise, however there was still more Robbie wanted to say, had wanted to say to James for a while, but the time had never seemed right. He recognised that this was probably as good as it was going to get, but why, oh why, did they both have to be so tired. Robbie rubbed his face briskly to wake himself up and contemplated calling in sick for both of them. Neither was going to get much sleep now, and he was sure he could lie convincingly about a bad takeaway. Whether it was his head or his heart speaking—most likely a combination of both—Robbie decided to lay his cards on the table.

"You shouldn't be so bloody self-reliant, James. It's not healthy. You have to let someone in sometime, else you're going to end up a bitter and lonely old man. I've no doubt that would've been my fate, except some uppity new Chief Superintendent bullied a graduate-entry Sergeant into picking me up from the airport."

James' hands stilled and he slowly raised his eyes to Robbie.

"I missed Val, the kids—all the things that made Oxford home. I wanted to come back and get buried in me work, avoid getting too close, too _attached_, to anyone. I'd been wounded deeply when Morse died; it was like a piece had been ripped out of me. And then Val..." He closed his eyes, breathing in slowly through his nose before expelling a heavy sigh. "I wasn't having that again, or so I told myself. Then there you were, and—buggered if I know how or why—you became important." He took in James thoughtful, slightly puzzled gaze. "I've been grateful for that every day since. Have you never figured this out?" James began to shake his head, his brow furrowed. Robbie huffed softly, "I s'pose not. I know I said I'd never mention it again, but I told you once, you need a partner; sometimes wonder if I wasn't talking about meself."

James was speechless, and clearly flustered. Redness crept slowly up his cheeks to the tips of his ears, his eyes grew larger and his mouth fell open. Robbie watched this change, perplexed. Then the penny dropped.

"Not like _that_, you daft sod," he laughed, "Bloody hell, married over twenty years me, doesn't that tell you something? Ah, damn it. Wish I had your way with words, some of your philosophy and what not up here." He tapped the side of his head, eyes filled with kindness and mirth at James' great relief at being wrong for a change.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is, I want to be here for you, to support you in the way a partner should, not just as a work partner. I can see so much in your future James, but you have to believe it's there too, and be willing to reach out for help and accept help on the way. I want you to be the best James Hathaway you can be and if that means... What do they say, 'No man is an island'? What I know is that I regularly find myself being proud of you, getting frustrated by you, worrying about you—are you eating enough, sleeping enough." Robbie paused, debating whether or not to give voice to the rest. "What I'm saying, what I think I'm trying to say is... Now, don't take this the wrong way, and don't go getting any silly ideas, but sometimes, and only sometimes mind, I have to stop and remind meself that I'm _not_ your dad. Does that... Do you understand...?"

James nodded slowly, his eyes still wide, though with wonder rather than horror. "Yes, at least, I think so. My dad was... As long as my dad left me alone, I was happy; I, I didn't care what he thought of me in the end. I think Lyn and Mark were—are—very lucky to have you." James hesitated, pulling his thoughts together. "When I was with DI Knox, I did what was expected of me, kept my nose clean, stayed under the radar, dutifully following the path set out for me, I guess. During the Griffon case I realised you were different, and that I could be different. Since then I know I've let you down at times, disappointed you, and I've wanted to kick myself every time. I... today I didn't want to give you cause to worry, I really thought..." James' shoulders sagged a little and he frowned, "Truth is, I want you to be proud of me, not feel you need to watch out for me. I don't _think_ I've seen you as a father-figure, well, not consciously, but...now I'm not sure."

Robbie scratched his head, "Either I'm more tired that I feel, which I don't think is possible, or else you've sort of said that you sort of see me the way I should look if I was seeing you in the way you want to be seen by me. Yes? No?" Robbie thunked his elbows on the table and dropped his chin heavily into his cupped hands. "So, this," he waved one hand around, indicating both of them, "This isn't a father/son thing—because that would be..._awkward_—but it's clearly more than Governor/Bagman."

James blinked and frowned, trying to wrap his head around Robbie's sleep-deprived logic and his own now mildly drug-addled thoughts. "Erm, father and... no, I don't... even with everything that's in my head, I don't really... Is it closer to…I don't know." James shook his head briskly, as though to try and shake his thoughts into order, and stared at Robbie.

It made Robbie think of the Magic Ball Lyn once had, where you asked a question, shook the ball and the answer popped up. He half expected 'Yes', 'No', or 'Maybe' to appear in one of James' eyes and bit back an inappropriate giggle. _Damn, I need some sleep._

James appeared to have thought his own logic puzzle through. "I'm not a proponent of labels; I don't like being 'boxed'. And I think the meds have well and truly kicked in. I...I like what we have, whatever it is—it seems to work...most of the time." He puffed out his cheeks with a sigh before making eye contact with Robbie again. His face was solemn, though Robbie was certain there was a trace of mischief around James' eyes when he spoke again. "I promise to try not to be such a twat again, Sir."

Robbie knew this wouldn't be the end of the discussion. James was James and would now go to wherever it was he went in his head and work this over properly. But for tonight—for this morning—it was enough. He gave James one firm nod, his eyes fighting to stay open. "Just don't you bloody dare call me Dad."

"Understood, Sir." A tired smile twitched at the corner of James' mouth, "Would Grandpa be acceptable?"


End file.
